I’ve never liked pictures of myself. It creeps me out, hundreds of years from now someone looking at a picture of me. Now a rotting body beneath them. I said i didn’t want people to remember me. To know what I thought, spoke, what I acted on and who for. Most often than not I said that out of insecurities about not being strong enough. Now I ask myself, “why are you afraid of victory?” I know I have it in me to succeed. Without a doubt. That’s why I can see myself so clearly accomplished, happy, confident. Simultaneously, a road appears in front of me. And it will have no end. I’m not afraid of the damage that road will cause on my body. I’m deathly afraid of never dying, and living forever alone. When I think back to my suicide I am, of course, surprised by transformation I went through. Still there has never a point at which I truly regretted it. I’m not sure I’d ever try again. The fall out was much worse than I expected… but there is, and may always be, a part of me that wish’s I could have done it. Some moral part of me refused beyond believe. Life is hard, emotional, tiring. That’s why I cried so much that night, because I knew I’d never kill myself and I wanted to so badly. I was so tired. And the more I saw in the real world the longer that road became. Becomes.